


Holding the Line

by yuffiehighwind



Series: Don't Tame Your Demons, Just Keep 'Em On a Leash [2]
Category: Agents of Cracked
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29797116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuffiehighwind/pseuds/yuffiehighwind
Summary: Sarge and Mandy tackle Michael's latest screw-up - summoning the ghosts of a haunted "Facebook."
Relationships: Mandy Manderson/Sarge
Series: Don't Tame Your Demons, Just Keep 'Em On a Leash [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1837210





	Holding the Line

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during S2E5, “[Ghost File](https://youtu.be/BaI4Ospc3KY).” The dialogue between Mandy and Dan at the beginning comes from the episode.
> 
> Originally written as a chapter in my longer, multi-chapter fanfic "[Too Old to Die Young](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25703977/chapters/62410963)." Progress on that fic has stalled, but I plan on completing it one of these days. This portion will still be included in that fic, but I'm uploading it separately as well, since it's already complete. Why the heck not?
> 
> This takes place a few chapters into "Too Old to Die Young," when Mandy and Sarge already have a working relationship. Mandy is Michael's secret bodyguard, but Sarge still withholds some information from her. At this point in that longer fic, Mandy is developing unspoken feelings for Sarge.

“And I know like a year ago I’d love to not have to baby-sit him, but I thought we were like a team, you know?”

 _This was a mistake_ , Mandy thought. She had been on her lunch break, relaxing on the lounge’s couch. Giving less of a shit than usual - no one seemed to care that Mandy was taking longer and longer lunch breaks - she put up her feet and decided to spend company time painting her toes. Dan entered to disrupt her peace with his usual prattle, but Mandy had an idea. She had used his affection once to fix her clothes dryer, and she could use it again to get a free pedicure.

Mandy didn’t even have to flirt. With a simple request to paint her nails, Dan dropped whatever he was doing, and immediately picked up the polish without question.

Now Dan was saying, “I thought we were like a team, you know?” Clearly he missed Michael - something Mandy couldn’t fathom. Sure, she and Michael had hooked up a few times, and she interacted with him at work as much as necessary, but that was it. Occasional, individual encounters with the man were more than enough for anyone to handle. Nobody could ever actually _miss_ Michael Swaim. _Yeah, this pedicure was definitely a mistake._

“Maybe you’re spending too much time with _me_.”

Somewhere between annoyed and astonished, Dan replied, “This is _literally_ the first time you’ve let me see you in three weeks. I thought you moved. I organized search parties.” 

_Search parties?_ Mandy wasn’t _that_ good at going off the grid. Her perceived disappearance may have had to do with her desk moving and her frequent time away from the office. She had also changed her phone number. 

Completing the last toe, Dan said, “This foot’s done.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” she said. “Too much time together.”

Mandy smoothly got up, one foot still bare, and left the lounge. She needed a quick breather from the needy writer.

Mandy thought the hallway would be a welcome relief, but instead she felt an icy shiver of fear. The feeling grew stronger, into an irrational, stabbing terror. But why? All she could see at the end of the corridor was Michael holding a large cardboard box. 

“Mandy,” he said. But no, that wasn’t Michael’s voice. His mouth didn’t move.

Rather than returning to the lounge, morbid curiosity compelled Mandy to walk closer. Michael’s eyes were wide and he looked a bit crazed. He was shaking the cumbersome box from side to side - or it was shaking on its own and he was struggling to keep it from dropping.

Someone from another hallway suddenly ran into them, and two things happened at once - either Michael slashed the person with a knife, or they injured themselves with a weapon of their own, because blood splattered Mandy’s face. The voices in the box continued whispering fervently - not with one voice, but with many - chanting garbled nonsense with only two clear English words. _Kill yourself._

The box’s lid flipped open - it was dark, but there were thick strands of blonde hair draped over the side. A wig? No, it was a scalp. The open box caught the light, and she saw that it was filled with…

Mandy screamed. Horrified and sick, she turned and fled towards the lounge. Dan was coming from the opposite direction, saying, “Mandy?” As he drew closer, Dan exclaimed, “Jesus Christ! What happened?”

“Why do they whisper, Dan?” she asked him, repeating more emphatically, “Why do they _whisper?_ ”

Seeing the blood, he said, “Holy shit. Do you need--?”

Holding onto the wall, Mandy brushed him off and continued limping to safety. She knew exactly where to go.

“I have your shoe!” Dan called, but she ignored him.

* * *

Mandy stumbled down Cracked’s labyrinthine halls, desperate to make it to the safest place she knew - Sarge’s office. Keeping one hand on the wall, Mandy navigated the darkened corridors by touch. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, turning off one by one, like the power was being cut one hall at a time. 

“Sarge! _Sarge!”_

Mandy banged on Sarge’s glass door until it opened and a hand yanked her inside, slamming it shut behind her. Mandy’s eyes adjusted to the darkness - Sarge’s office resembled a jungle and felt even more like one now.

Sarge pulled Mandy deeper into the trees and pushed her behind him. 

“Sarge--”

“Shh! Did anyone follow you?” 

“No.”

“Where’s Michael?”

“I don’t know. All I remember is he had a box full of...skinned faces, I think. But they were talking. I thought Michael was doing it, but the sound was coming from the box.”

Her eyes shut tight, Mandy grasped Sarge’s sleeve for something to hold onto.

“You’re covered in blood,” he softly said with concern, instead of his usual gruff bluntness. 

Sarge touched her face, turning her head side to side, probably examining it for cuts. He ran his hands down each of her bare arms to inspect them too, and Mandy was too stunned to object, her pulse still racing from her encounter with Michael. It felt kind of nice, despite his calloused fingers. Though she had calmed a bit, safer hidden in the trees, his warm touches didn’t relax her. They had the opposite effect, and when Sarge removed his hands, Mandy was disappointed.

“You don’t appear to be injured,” he said. 

Despite already knowing this, Mandy wished he would examine her body more thoroughly, then chastised herself for getting turned on in such an insane scenario as this. It was not as if she wasn’t still scared - the whispering box of disembodied flesh was still freshly terrifying - but Sarge’s embrace might banish the gruesome images. 

Mandy opened her eyes and Sarge was looking at her expectantly for an explanation.

“It’s someone else’s blood,” he said. “Whose is it?”

Mandy vaguely remembered that Michael had a knife - or did he? Was Michael the one carving up their coworkers, or were people harming themselves at the Whispers’ command? She thought Michael was carrying the abomination with both hands, but then again, it had been a dizzying blur. She was covered in _someone’s_ blood - a lot of it, judging by the sticky trail down her face - but couldn’t say whose.

Firmly, Sarge said, “Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t know,” Mandy answered shakily. “Somebody got...stabbed, or stabbed themself or something.”

“So Michael has a weapon?”

“I think the people out there are hurting themselves.”

Sarge went to the door and pushed some leaves aside to look into the hall. He had lined up tall plants along the glass window to mask their presence. Sarge’s body tensed, but Mandy couldn’t see what he was looking at.

“Who is it?” she asked. 

“Swaim and O’Brien.”

Mandy’s breath hitched. 

“Sarge--”

“Shh!” He pushed Mandy further into the trees until she stood against the wall.

“What’s happening?” she asked. “What did Michael _do?_ ”

“When Michael brought that box of faces here, I think he brought their ghosts along with them.”

“Ghosts are real?”

“Anything Michael touches has the potential to become real. Alive. Conscious. _Angry._ That kid is good at pissing people off, even after they’re dead.”

“How is that possible?”

“I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”

Mandy frowned. “That isn’t funny.”

“It’s not supposed to be,” he said. “Look, I can’t order you to forget what happened here today - especially since I could use some help preventing this kind of thing - but you should probably forget what happened here today.”

“I can never forget seeing that...that _thing_.”

Sarge sighed. “Michael has a way of doing that too.” Drawing his gun, he said, “Okay, we need to get rid of that box.”

“How do you suggest we do that, if nobody can get close to it?"

“O’Brien can.”

 _Of course_ , Mandy thought. The milquetoast, uptight editor was no hero, but had the superpower of convincing Michael Swaim to listen to him.

“If Michael takes the box outside, we can calm things down. The ghosts might disperse in the open air. Regardless, they’ll no longer be Cracked’s problem. We just need to get that box out of the building.”

“Can’t we just wait for Dan to make him leave?”

“That boy can always use a little push. Here, take this.” 

Sarge held a gun out to Mandy, but she was already armed. She hitched up her dress to show him the thigh holster he had instructed her to wear. Sarge grinned, no doubt impressed by her preparedness, but his gaze on her legs was having the same effect his hands on her body had earlier. Mandy kept the fabric raised a bit longer than was necessary, and she could have sworn Sarge's eye lingered too.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s go.”

They cautiously left the office, glancing left and right. The hall was empty.

“They went that way,” Sarge said, pointing left.

“What’s the plan?” Mandy asked.

“Find them and make sure nothing stops O’Brien from getting that box out of the building.”

“How does Dan know that’s what he has to do?”

“Hmm.”

Looking uncertain, Sarge stopped in the middle of the hallway. Mandy could hear muffled screams from another room.

“You didn’t think this through, did you?” 

“I know what I’m doing,” Sarge hissed.

"I can tell," Mandy said dryly. "Okay, we need to separate them long enough to tell Dan. So, how do we do that?"

"I’ll distract Michael while you talk to O’Brien.”

“No,” said Mandy. “Dan never listens to me. He only ever hears what he wants to hear.”

“O’Brien cares about you. He would be willing to risk everything to save your life." In annoyance, Sarge said, “That boy expects _me_ to do everything _for_ him!”

“You’re better at explaining stuff like this, and Dan obeys authority. He’s scared of you.”

“If you’re bringing up my authority, then that’s an _order,_ soldier,” Sarge said with a scowl. “I’m _commanding_ you to instruct O’Brien while I distract Michael, got it? Now come on!”

Sarge quickened his pace, striding past Mandy down Michael’s former path, towards what sounded like Dan shouting. With bare feet and her gun drawn, Mandy hurried after him. The end of the hall was empty, so they turned a corner and spotted Dan and Michael yelling at each other. The box had fallen to the floor and was now alive in some way, restless and quaking. There was no denying the box was moving on its own. But Mandy couldn’t see any ghosts - the two men were batting at the air, fending off invisible attackers.

“Michael!” both Sarge and Mandy shouted. Sarge shot Mandy a quick glare, firmly pointing at Dan. 

“Michael Swaim,” said Sarge. Strangely, he had holstered his gun, perhaps to seem less threatening, though his tone of voice said otherwise. “You really screwed up this time, kid.”

“Sarge?” said Michael.

“Run Mandy!” Dan shouted. “Get out of here!”

“Dan, I need to talk to you.”

Suddenly, a powerful wind blew down the hall, flipping Mandy’s hair in her face and leaving her unsteady on her feet. She pointed her gun down with the safety locked, keeping a worried eye on Sarge and Michael, while pleading for Dan to listen. The three men were also taken off-guard by the blast of air. Mandy hadn’t imagined it. 

“Listen to me,” she said. “There’s something you have to do.” 

The sound of the rushing wind muffled Mandy’s voice. Dan cupped his hand by his ear to convey he couldn’t hear her. 

“Dan, I need you!” Mandy shouted desperately. 

Dan heard her that time - he looked both giddily happy to be needed and steely determined to rescue her. The two of them battled the impossible storm to stand close enough to speak.

“Mandy, you’re okay!” Dan said, taking her left hand and lacing their fingers. He looked both surprised and relieved. The last time they spoke, Mandy had been limping down the hallway fleeing Michael. 

“You need to get Michael and that box out of the building,” she said.

“What?”

“The box - it’s full of ghosts.”

Like it was obvious, Dan said, “I can _see_ that!”

Mandy couldn’t see anything, but _he_ could, so this should be easy.

“You have to get the ghosts to leave.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Dan asked, squealing and ducking something invisible. Mandy was knocked back by a hidden force. She pushed through it.

“Get Michael to take the box and go,” she repeated. “Use your...whatever. Michael listens to you for some reason.”

Dan shook his head. “He really doesn’t.”

“Yes he _does_ ,” Mandy insisted. “I’ve seen it. Ever since you came to Cracked, the problems he caused have diminished. In all my years here, I’ve never seen _anyone_ affect Michael like you do.”

This wasn’t flattery - Mandy really had seen improvements in Michael’s behavior. Seven employees had come and gone over the years, partnered with Michael by the Chief, and every one of them had ended up dead. 

“ _Please_ , Dan. I know you can do this.”

“Alright, I’ll do it,” Dan said, determined. He looked like he wanted to kiss her, like this was the climax of an action movie, so Mandy stepped out of his reach, both hands on her gun. 

Mandy tried to make her hints of disinterest subtle and not cruel, but Dan was always too dense to pick up on them. Then again, it didn’t help she had allowed him to paint her toenails. But she’d have let any cosmetician do the same, and Dan’s hands on her feet, her calf up on his knee, felt nowhere near as intimate as Sarge’s palm on her cheek.

“Good luck,” said Mandy, turning her attention to Michael and Sarge. The officer had fallen to the ground, his lip bloody. 

“Sarge!” Mandy shouted, dashing to his side. Dan whispered something to Michael, then they picked up the shaking box together and stumbled down the hallway with it, hopefully towards the exit. The wind stopped.

Mandy holstered her gun and helped Sarge to his feet. “What happened?” 

“Swaim has a mean left hook,” Sarge said, spitting out bloody saliva and wiping his mouth. 

“Thanks for keeping Michael occupied. I told Dan I believed in him and that seemed to do the trick.”

“Ah, you went _that_ route. Good thinking, Manderson.”

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. He does have a positive effect on Michael. This office was even more of a shitshow before Dan got here.” 

Mandy tucked her tangled hair behind her ears. The office felt a little lighter, like the curse had lifted already, though residual effects probably still lingered.

“So you were right about Dan,” she continued. “Whatever he said to Michael, they took off real quick.”

“Well,” said Sarge, stretching his limbs and cracking his neck. “I’m pretty sure it’s what _I_ said to Michael that did it.”

“What did you say?”

Sarge didn’t answer, instead replying, “We need to call an ambulance and get these people medical attention as quickly as possible. Go make the call.”

“What did you say to him, Sarge?” 

He hesitated before reluctantly answering, “I told Michael his mother would be ashamed of him.”

“So he punched you?”

“That’s not all I said.”

Mandy chuckled. “Did you insult his mom?”

“No! God, no,” said Sarge, like this was unthinkable. “I used her name.”

“He punched you just for saying her name?”

Sarge shrugged.

“How do you know her?”

“Make the call," he said. "I’ll round up the survivors.”

Sarge walked away, and Mandy used the nearest landline phone to dial 911. It took a long time to treat everyone, and it would take even longer to clean up. Rick was the only one in dire need of help - both his eyes had been gruesomely pierced by ballpoint pens. The others did have various stab wounds, scrapes and cuts. It was difficult to tell which wounds were Michael’s doing, which were self-inflicted, which were made by other employees, and which were done by the ghosts. 

It was impossible to report to police what had occurred without sounding crazy - and without a full investigation. While EMTs assisted the wounded and confused janitors arrived to sweep the halls, cops inspected the scene and started questioning witnesses. 

Sarge disappeared into his office, spending an hour on the phone, from what Mandy could tell through his window. When Sarge finally emerged, he noticed Mandy lingering by the door and scowled. Mandy crossed her arms. She was done with information being withheld from her. 

“So?” she asked. 

“I spoke with the Chief. He’s going to cover up this latest embarrassment.”

Mandy gestured down the hall, indicating the police trawling Cracked’s offices. 

“How’s he going to stop the police from investigating? The whole staff is spooked, and no one has tried to hide that this was all Michael’s fault. Everybody’s spilling their guts out there. The cops will be looking for him.”

“Michael gets a sort of...immunity.” 

“What does that mean?" Sarge didn't reply. Frustrated, Mandy asked, "Can you stop being so cagey all the time?”

“You work on a need-to-know basis, Manderson. You agreed to that when you took the job.”

“From what I’ve pieced together, Michael is some kind of alien creature, right?” Sarge looked at her disdainfully, but allowed Mandy to continue. “Cracked contains him and keeps him occupied, because the Chief wants to keep him alive. But why? If Michael is so much trouble, why not just kill him?”

“In case you forgot, Michael can’t actually die.”

“Okay, then why not imprison him? Why allow him to interact with the outside world at all if he’s so dangerous?”

Sarge looked conflicted, like he wanted to explain but didn’t dare. He no doubt faced harsh repercussions from the Chief if he revealed unauthorized information, especially something as big as this. 

Mandy recalled what Sarge had said to make Michael leave with Dan.

“It’s because of his mother, isn’t it?” she asked. Sarge looked away, his posture rigid and his lips pressed in a thin line. Taking a shot in the dark, Mandy said, “You know Michael’s mother and promised her you’d look out for him.”

“Stop!” Sarge angrily snapped, pointing his finger in her face. Lowering his volume, he repeated, “Stop. Talking.”

Mandy smiled, proud of herself for figuring out the truth. Whoever had birthed Michael, the Chief couldn’t just lock her child up, because that was no life at all. Sure, the Chief could rig Michael’s head to explode if he truly threatened the world, but clearly he had known Michael wouldn’t stay dead.

“You don’t know how off base that is,” Sarge said more calmly, not technically disputing Mandy’s theory. “Forget all that stuff about Michael’s mother. The Chief has his reasons and that’s all you need to know.”

Sarge strode down the hall towards the lounge, where all the wounded had been taken. Again, Mandy hurried to catch up. 

After the chaos had subsided, Mandy searched for her other shoe - Dan had to have dropped it somewhere - but couldn’t find it. Luckily, the wardrobe in Cracked’s studio contained extra flip-flops from a beach-themed video. Unfortunately, they were a men’s pair - probably Michael’s - and too big for her feet, making her stumble if she walked too fast.

“What about the cops?” Mandy asked, once she caught up to him.

“Don’t worry, the Chief will take care of them.” Noticing her worried look at the words _“take care of,”_ Sarge clarified, “He’ll bribe them.”

“That isn’t much better.” 

“It is for the ones getting the bribes.” Sarge handed Mandy an open flip-phone with a contact already selected. “While I talk to these guys, I need you to do one more thing. Call O’Brien and get an update on Michael’s location.”

“Won’t that tip Michael off if they’re still together?”

“It’s been hours. The kid will have lost interest by now.”

Mandy made the call. Dan answered,“Sarge?”

“It’s Mandy. Sarge wanted an update on the whole box thing.” He didn't respond, so Mandy added, wincing at the endearment, “And I wanted to make sure you were safe, babe.”

“So everyone’s alright? No more ghosts?”

“Um, yeah? I thought they all left with you.”

Mandy never thought she’d be having this conversation, but that was life working at Cracked.com.

“Yeah, yes, uh, yeah,” Dan stammered. “That was a... _traumatizing_ experience, but I got the box to Michael’s car.”

Mandy exhaled in relief. “And he left with it?”

“Yes, thank God! He left, like, hours ago.”

“So where are you now?”

“Don’t tell Sarge, but I just _bounced_. I felt like I was gonna pass out! I think a ghost’s hand went _through_ my body at some point, because I’ve been freezing _all_ day. I piled up my blankets, but one of my arms is still kinda numb, and--"

“That’s great, Dan,” said Mandy, not really listening to his list of symptoms. “I’ll tell Sarge.”

“No, don’t--” Mandy hung up.

Sarge was busy speaking with one of the cops, so she tapped his shoulder.

“If you would excuse me,” he told the officer, stepping away.

Mandy handed Sarge the flip phone, saying, “I just talked to Dan. The box is long gone. He didn’t know where Michael went with it, but he’s calling out sick for the rest of the day.”

“He has no idea where Michael went?”

“No, but we got the box out of the building, didn't we?”

"It's a start," Sarge said. "Whatever stunt Michael pulls next, we’ll deal with it when it happens.”

“What about the mess?” Mandy asked, gesturing to all the debris and splattered blood.

“Tidy your own desk, then take the rest of the day off.”

Mandy smiled. “Seriously?”

“Seriously, Manderson. You’ve done more than enough.”

Mandy didn’t do much cleaning, just gathered her things - including her single shoe - and headed straight for the exit. 

_Now_ , Mandy thought, _I’ve got some time to get that pedicure._  
  



End file.
